


THE KNIGHT OF THE ABSENT MIND: or SHALOTT REVISITED

by Grondfic



Category: The Lady of Shalott - Alfred Lord Tennyson
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-22 07:42:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13759440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grondfic/pseuds/Grondfic
Summary: DisclaimerI hope it’s not too condescending,That (with not MUCH offence intending)I’ve done some very slight emendingTo give the lass a happy endingWithout the help of Lancelot.I make no money from this rhyme,All rights reserved till end of time,So please don’t say I’ve done a crime,Or my escutcheon blot!





	THE KNIGHT OF THE ABSENT MIND: or SHALOTT REVISITED

**Author's Note:**

> Tennyson's original can be found here (for reference purposes):
> 
> https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45360/the-lady-of-shalott-1842

Sir Lancelot on Quest did ride,  
His mighty bugle by his side.  
He left the town at morningtide,  
‘Ere eggs in kitchens had been fried  
In many-tower’d Camelot.  
And as his warhorse pranced along,  
The fields and barley-sheaves among,  
He sang his Tirra Lirra song,  
Did bold Sir Lancelot.

He reckoned, going at a clip,  
He’d find a Quest, then back he’d nip  
And (giving dragons all the slip)  
By nightfall, homewards he would trip  
To many-tower’d Camelot.  
His armour all was burnished fair,  
His warhorse shone with jewels rare,  
But one thing it was missing there,  
From bold Sir Lancelot.

His sword Joyeux forgot he had,  
Likewise his page in crimson clad  
(Who, knowing him, that canny lad  
Had followed on an ambling pad,  
With Joyeux, out of Camelot.  
But, since the knight rode with some haste,  
The ambling pad was far outpaced,  
So, left behind, he vainly chased  
And cursed Sir Lancelot!)

****

The sun from morn to noon tumesced;  
But now declined from south t’ward west.  
Our hero – Questless and distressed,  
His dream of glory a mare’s nest -  
Turned back for tower’d Camelot.  
And at the closing of the day,  
In brooding deep, he missed his way,  
The warhorse, aimless, went astray,  
Around remote Shalott.

He was a knight of absent mind,  
For forward thinking not designed,  
So THIS was the moment he did find  
That (as we know) he’d left behind  
His sword, back home at Camelot.  
The gibbous moon leered balefully,  
And ‘Tirra Lirra,’ quavered he,  
To keep his spirits uppity,  
Beside remote Shalott.

Some surly-churls back home were wending,  
Just as the market day was ending,  
They’d made some money from their vending  
And then the profits had been spending  
At every pub in Camelot.  
They heard the bridle-bells a-ringing,  
They heard the horse’s hoofs a-dinging,  
And moonlight showed them jewels glimming  
Through willows by Shalott.

These surly-churls, with empty purse,  
Were not to larceny averse.  
Amongst themselves they did converse,  
And thought the bloke might reimburse  
Them for their spree in Camelot.  
Thus sought they to the knight compel,  
‘Stand and deliver!’ they did yell.  
From saddle they did him expel  
To ground, by still Shalott.

Some half of them put in the boot,  
Whilst others rushed to grab the loot.  
His mighty bugle he did toot,  
And wished he’d picked another route  
To many- tower’d Camelot.  
The panicked warhorse pranced and shied,  
Whilst surly-churls milled round its side.  
He hoped they wouldn’t hitch a ride  
And leave him by Shalott.

****

Meanwhile, some furlongs in the rear,  
The long-hair’d page the horn did hear.  
It echoed in the stratosphere,  
And he towards the sound did veer  
To go and aid Sir Lancelot.  
He knew the knight each eve grew weak,  
So reinforcements he did seek.  
But all was silent, all was bleak,  
Around remote Shalott.

But suddenly, the peace was shattered,  
By damsels-glad who loudly yattered,  
Nonstop amongst themselves they nattered,  
There was no swear-word left unuttered,  
As they roared back from Camelot.  
Their bosoms were adorned with bling  
And bawdy ballads did they sing,  
Though some had started vomiting  
Beside remote Shalott.

Their skirts around their thighs they wore  
(As often seen on _Geordie Shore_ )  
And vodka down their throats did pour,  
Since many bottles home they bore  
From many-tower’d Camelot.  
And when the long-haired page they saw,  
They all stopped dead, and ogled sore,  
And many of them uttered “PHWOAR!”  
Which echoed round Shalott.

They giggled quite a lot, and nudged,  
As the weary page towards them trudged,  
“Forgive me, ladies, but I judged,  
You might aid someone being mugged –  
My master, bold Sir Lancelot.  
That bugle tells me he’s beset,  
(His usual call when under threat)  
And after dark he gets upset,  
Plus his sword he’s forgot.”

“What kind of hero can this be?  
But, just for you, we’ll come and see!”  
They hurtled past the willow-tree,  
And then beheld the mad melee  
Betwixt the churls and Lancelot.  
Stiletto heels were quickly doffed  
And brandished fervently aloft,  
Those surly-churls they did accost  
Beside remote Shalott.

These damsels-glad did bravely shout,  
“You’re out of order, f**k off out!  
Or else we will, without a doubt  
Inform your mothers straight about  
Your exploits all round Camelot!”  
The surly-churls retreated fast,  
The knight, however, free at last -  
Addressed his page in tone harassed -  
“You’re late-come to Shalott!

I find you here with hoi polloi,  
You only do it to annoy!  
You’re just a nuisance to employ,  
For pity’s sake, what kept you, boy  
That you neglected Lancelot?”  
“I met a dragon round midday,  
My ambling pad it ate straightway,  
So, sadly, Lord, I had to slay  
It, near remote Shalott.”

This explanation by the page,  
His wrath did not at all assuage,  
The exploit did him well upstage,  
So it served only to enrage  
And hurt the pride of Lancelot.  
“So you’ve been poncing round!” he roared,  
“You’ve little care for me, your Lord;  
And have you dirtied-up my sword  
With dragon-blood so hot?”

“I killed it with my dagger, sire,  
For Joyeux I too much admire!”  
Replied the page, much to his ire;  
And so he shouted “You’re a liar,  
Not fit to live in Camelot!”  
Across the stream, a new voice floated -  
“He told the truth - that beast he smoted!  
Young heroes should not be demoted,  
By you, Sir Lancelot!”

****

The Lady, who in tower did bide,  
Via Mirror had the fight espied,  
It made her laugh until she cried  
To see how they had pacified  
The surly-churls and Lancelot.  
Her swooping laughter high did swell,  
The mirror’s surface cracked and fell,  
It shattered whole that baleful spell  
That held her in Shalott.

Down she came and found a boat,  
Across the stream, she swift did float.  
The knight’s untruths fair got her goat,  
Indignant words swelled from her throat,  
To hurl rebuke at Lancelot.  
The damsels-glad some laughs did utter,  
But soon in awe a name did mutter,  
With staring eye and voice a-stutter -  
“T’is the Lady of Shalott!”

The Lady’s skiff it flitted lightly,  
To land it came; she hopped out sprightly,  
And then she made a speech forthrightly -  
“Brave page, your master’s so unknightly  
That you should leave this Lancelot.  
For you have fairly won my heart,  
So may we not a-courting start?”  
(A damsel here let loose a fart  
That harshed the mood a lot!)

The long-haired page seemed most bemused,  
As if to compliments unused,  
He stammered, stopped and looked confused,  
Then shook his head, was not amused  
And wouldn’t look at Lancelot.  
His deep unease was manifest,  
Although his angst he soon repressed,  
And, blushing deeply, thus addressed  
The Lady of Shalott -

“Dear ma’am, unworthy as I am,  
To think you’d even give a damn,  
I’m honoured, but it’s all flimflam.  
In sober truth, I am a sham,  
And not a page from Camelot.  
This crimson cap away I’ll whirl,  
And doff this doublet with a twirl,  
Now - do you mind that I’m a girl,  
Sweet Lady of Shalott?

I’ve read our story in a tome  
That nurse would hand me when at home,  
My fate, like yours lies on the foam,  
We finish in a catacomb  
Both - on account of Lancelot.  
So now I swear that me and you  
Won’t float that river, dead and blue,  
And by my name, I will keep true -  
Elaine of Astolat.”

****

The damsels-glad thought this was splendid,  
Their cheers most inharmonious blended -  
With Lancelot, who all transcended,  
As he did roar – “You’re my Intended!  
How dare you be in Camelot!”  
A softer tone he then did feign,  
(Although it went against the grain)  
“My dearest dear, return again,  
I beg, to Astolat!”

“A proper hero are you none!  
As the sun sets, away you run,”  
Replied Elaine, “We two are done.  
There’ll be no child twixt us begun,  
To sit with knights at Camelot!”  
He gazed at his intended bride,  
Wiped a small tear, and loudly sighed,  
Then cleared his throat, and thus replied  
Beside remote Shalott -

“Girls’ brains are small since time began,  
So let me mansplain if I can,  
Then soon you’ll want to join my clan,  
You’ll beg me hard to be your man,  
And then go home to Astolat!  
You’re clearly in ‘ _a state of mind_ ’,  
Perhaps it is your ‘ _monthly-time_ ’?  
Just get back home, and you’ll be prime,  
Away from grim Shalott.

You say I’m frightened of the dark  
My dear, you’re widely off the mark,  
Up the wrong tree you clearly bark,  
My explanation you must hark,  
And then return to Astolat.  
Then know - I am a Solar Hero,  
And only flourish in the clear-o,  
So come the sundown, home I steer-o  
From dreary old Shalott!”

“Your weasel words cannot me cheer,  
It’s no damn use to persevere,  
Your talk of love is insincere,  
‘Cos let’s not mention Guinevere,  
And what you do in Camelot!  
So as from now, I’m unemployed,  
Which gives me pleasure unalloyed,  
For you’re an empathetic void.  
We part here, at Shalott.

I’ve followed you in every weather,  
And I’ve stayed mute at all your blether,  
I’ve burnished jewels on saddle leather,  
And even fluffed your helmet feather  
You dozy bugger, Lancelot!  
I only followed to adore  
But you’re an androcentric bore,  
And I don’t love you any more,  
I’m off; so that’s your lot!”

****

The damsels-glad once more did shout  
To see the knight thus put to rout.  
He’d mounted-up with many-a pout,  
The warhorse carried him, no doubt,  
Back all the way to Camelot.  
As jingling bells in distance died,  
The Lady raised her voice and cried -  
“Your wanderings pray put aside,  
And stay here in Shalott!

You’ve saved me too, my sweet Elaine,  
My life can now begin again  
We’ll hold a party, with champagne,  
I beg you now to here remain,  
And not return to Astolat.  
I’ve got a tower where we can dwell,  
I’ve loads of Tapestries to sell,  
So Chivalry can go to Hell  
Round here in sweet Shalott!”

Elaine she bowed down to her knee,  
“My Lady I have heard your plea.  
For you I’ll quit male company,  
Sir Galahad will never Be,  
Nor Holy Grail in Camelot!”  
So now they live in joy transcending,  
Their happiness is never-ending,  
So let’s all cheer this **HAPPY ENDING** ,  
In Merrie old Shalott!

**Author's Note:**

> The lack of Lancelot's 'mighty sword' (named Joyeux in T H White) is actually Canon in the poem. Tennyson devotes four full verses to a minute description of Lancelot's armour, horse-furniture and what he sang. No mention of a sword at all!


End file.
